Memorial Day, I am off to talk to the dead...

Cool gray morning in the Northwest, I go out to raise the flag. A visiting Russian General was once amazed at the number of American flags flying all over in our country. I am sure that they are flying today, half staff until noon. I am going to Mount Tahoma National Cemetery and walk the lines and listen and read the stones, I will have one some day in the future I expect unless we move again in this life time that I will be buried there, a good place to be among those others like me, who served our country and kept so free. Rumor has it that America isn't ready to sacrifice and really fight for freedom, that they think they can hire heroes. I know there are thousands of them, tens of thousands and probably hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of Americans ready to stand up and protect all that is best in America and the World. Going to go remember those that have done that, be good and go gently.

I mostly loved my time in uniform, but in 1969-70 I drew details that I didn't want, funeral details, as a Sergeant I got the firing squad or the flag folding, I did both. In dry dusty little towns in Southwest Oklahoma and Northern Texas we would ride a bus and get off and get ready and perform in the best of military tradition, and honor another fallen soldier from Vietnam. Uniforms perfect, always in step, Ready, Aim, Fire! Ready, Aim, Fire! Ready, Aim, Fire! The bugle sounded mournfully cutting the silence. Present Arms! Order Arms! and we would go away. Leaving behind the most beautiful people, I noticed the women - not an ugly one anywhere, all dressed to the hilt and crying silently. Mothers, sisters, wives, girl friends, children, old men from older wars and the tears were flowing. I didn't like those details, putting a young man to rest, but then they had come home. I did it the best I could, and would prepare my uniform and polish my brass and shoes for the next one - we always knew that there would be another one in a few days.